Contributions
by ForFutureReference
Summary: As Katniss and Peeta healed, so did District Twelve. However, it wasn't something that happened on its own. Hands, from within and from outside, helped to not just restore the district but rebuild it into something better than before. This is its story, as well as that of a couple who would end up growing together.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Best that Can be Done**

"Mellark, are you alright?"

While I'm already beginning to recover from my episode, the voice helps pull me back into reality, and as my vision clears, a pair of boots materialize into view. I look up to see a vaguely familiar face of a miner staring at me with an expression of concern and no small amount of trepidation.

I still need to take a few steadying breaths before responding in what I think is a laid-back tone: "Yeah… I just… I just needed to catch my breath. It's just… it's a lot to take in."

Understatement of the week. Prior to coming here, I poured over footage and photographs of the bombing's aftermath to steel myself for what I'd be facing; namely the ones just a week or so after it actually happened, and when the bodies were just starting to decay. Still, even though time had done a bit of work, all this preparation didn't prepare me for the real thing as I surveyed the dawn-lit scenery: the charred and husk-like remains of what used to be buildings, the thick layer of ash caking the ground and crumbling beneath my fingers, or the mixture of carbonized and dried-out corpses. And for a moment there, it did cause me to flash back to the land of the hijacked, where I'm bombarded with memories, both real and shiny.

On the upside, I guess that the response I had is a sign that my progress with Dr. Aurelius has paid off… somewhat. I mean, I no longer react violently to everything when confronted with certain factors. Instead, I merely seize up on myself, become about as useful as a fractured rock as I wait for the storm to pass, and feel utterly drained of energy afterwards. Sometimes it last a couple seconds, and sometimes it can last for almost half an hour; what I just had was probably a longer one. Still, it would be smart to have some contingency in place once I get settled in to be on the safe side. Also, the sight of me curled up on the ground likely doesn't exactly give a good impression about my mental state to anyone.

In any case, a look of sympathy crossed the former miner's features before he offers a hand to me, which I accept with a grunt of gratitude. "Thanks…"— _What's his name again? Thorn? Tom? Thom? Thom! Yeah, that's it. _—"Thom."

If Thom notices my hesitation at recalling him, he doesn't say anything but rather just pats me on the shoulder and grabs my bags before I can say anything. "Well it's good to see you back, Mellark," he notes as we begin walking up to the Victors' Village.

"How are things here?" I ask while gesturing vaguely at my surroundings.

"Honestly?" A puff of air is released as he runs his hand through his hair. "Could be better. Not many folks keen on returning; too many memories. Because of that, clean-up has been progressing much slower than any of us here would like, and we can't rebuild without finishing that part first."

"Oh…" This is worse than I thought.

"On the upshot, when the mine collapsed during the bombing, said collapse had prevented it from burning like the rest of the district. So at least this place hasn't become _completely_ uninhabitable. Also, no more coal dust occupying every nook, surface, and ass-crack."

"Not sure if all this ash is much better. And what will you do for work?"

Thom's mouth goes into a thin line at my query. "Yeah… I know. Coal mining wasn't the most pleasant or healthy of jobs — not to mention how damning it was to find out just how much the Capitol really needed coal — but it was still a job, and I bet that the lack of said job availability is another reason people aren't eagerly flock back." Another puff is released as he mutters, "We'll figure something out."

I ignore the trace of doubt and hesitation in his voice as we walk the rest of the way in silence.

Even though I already know that it was spared, it's still damning to see the Victors' Village intact after all the devastation that occurred. Though if there's one good thing about them remaining, it's that they are currently used to house those who did return; just as well considering how just one of those mansions can easily hold _at least_ five extended families comfortably. For some reason however, while I understand why no one else has occupied Haymitch — like anybody would share a space with him — and Katniss' houses, my house has remained empty as well.

When I ask Thom about that fact as we set my stuff down on the main foyer, he just shrugs. "We suspected as much that you'd return,"— For some reason, I detect some hidden message behind that, but he doesn't elaborate upon that. —"so we thought it fair that we leave the spot open."

"Thanks, though you didn't have to do it. Especially if—"

"We didn't have to do it, Mellark… We _wanted_ to do it. It's as much as we could offer to you."

I… really don't know what to say to that, so instead I just gulp and, rather lamely, repeat, "Thanks." That's when the subject of importance comes up. "By the way, do you know how Katniss is?" The fact that she hasn't called Dr. Aurelius hasn't exactly been a good sign, and while Haymitch has promised to look after her during my stay in the Capitol, he hasn't exactly been the type to update me on things.

For a brief second, a grimace crosses Thom's face — also not exactly a good sign — before he smooths it out into impassivity. "Honestly, I don't know. You should ask Greasy Sae; she and her granddaughter have been the ones to look after her."

"I… see…"

"I sorry I can't be more help. But let me know if you need anything else." With that, and after we shake hands, he heads out to start the day's work.

And thus, I'm left in this empty house with my own thoughts.

So instead of getting unpacked and settled in, I decide to go outside. I should check up on Katniss… but maybe she needs her distance right now, and I have no idea of how to help her. I could confront Haymitch about that… but right now is way too early. So what actually ends up happening is that I find myself walking back into the rest of the district to survey the devastation in detail; I don't even direct myself but instead let my feet do the directing for me.

I walk through the ruined square — once the bakery becomes close, I stare at the ground and pick up my pace; I'll have to face it someday, but now isn't that day — and Justice Building. I walk through the leveled surface of what used to be the Seam. I walk past the caved-in mine and the meadow that's now being used as a mass grave. All the while I take in everything. I'm honestly surprised I haven't lost it just yet; granted, I can feel beads of perspiration on my forehead that have nothing to do with temperature, and a constant constriction on my chest that signifies how close I am to having another episode.

It may be silly, but as I survey the destruction and death around me — not to mention being careful to step around the human remains — the one thing that registers is just how dreary everything is. I mean, our district was never the most cheerful, but there's just something about the constant gray, occasionally interrupted with char black, that adds a whole other level of unpleasantness on top.

Though as I get close to the fence boundary, I see something that sticks out amongst the gray, as if in defiance of the devastation. And just right there, I know exactly what I can give back to Katniss. And hopefully… just hopefully… I may able to contribute something that would give Twelve just the spark it needs to finally start growing.

So once I obtain a wheelbarrow and shovel, I begin digging.

It's not much, but it's the best I can do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For those who have read my other stuff, this is a bit of change in pace. While the progression of Everlark is a major element here, the focus is on the rebuilding of District Twelve and what makes it possible.  
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**This also could be read in conjunction with, and as a sequel of sorts to, _The High Road_.**


	2. Bombshell

_SLAM_

Well, as far as reunions go, that could have gone… better. Then again, considering what happened the last time we had a reunion, they also could have gone worse.

Besides the sound of the lock sliding and clicking into place, I can hear the muffled yet unmistakable thumps of footfalls running up the stairs. The following just-as-muffled crash to the floor sends a bout of worry through me, but it's clear that Katniss gets back up and continues on her not-so-merry way. Also the whole locking-the-door-behind-her part makes me suspect that approaching her would be a very… _very_ poor idea.

So the only things I can do is sigh and proceed to plant these primroses while trying not to think about how ragged Katniss appeared; be it the matted nature of her hair, the uneven manner that her grafts seem to be healing, the way her grown-out nails are beginning to curve and twist, or the disturbing level of thinness contained in her physique. I think how distressed I felt at her expression showed on my face because she looked ready to tear me a new one before deciding upon her retreat. An irrational urge to go up there to embrace and tell her that things are going to be alright threatens to overtake me, but I manage to put it down because, again, it'd be a very poor idea.

"This is the first time she got up and moved around."

I'll admit that Greasy Sae's voice makes me start a bit, but I manage to compose myself as I focus on making sure the roots of the plant I'm working on are sufficiently covered. "She's not exactly happy to see me."

"She's not exactly happy to see anyone, boy. But that you got her to step outside, if only for a couple seconds."

"Even if it meant confirming that she had to lock the door?"

"Lock the…?" Sure enough, when she goes to test the door, Sae's expression of puzzlement changes to that of exasperation. "That girl…"

"Like I said: she's not exactly happy to see me." I pause in grabbing for the next plant to run my hand through my hair. "I just… I just wish I knew what to do. I know that the safe route would be to give Katniss time…"

"At this point, she doesn't have that long, boy," Sae notes with a grim air.

"Exactly. Just in those few seconds — not to mention he in captivity — I can tell that she's wasting away, and I'd do anything to stop that…"

"But you don't want to push her away." I can only nod at that, and the old lady looks at me for what feels like an eternity before she heaves a sigh of her own and walks forward to brush my hair back. "Peeta, all I can say is that, whenever the opportunity presents itself, you'll know what the right thing to do is. You already made the right choice in getting these flowers; Prim would be proud."

I… I know this why I chose to collect the primroses — to honor Prim — but to have someone else make note of that makes my throat stick. So I settle for another nod in response.

Sae seems to understand and kisses my forehead with a smile before tottering back to wherever she's staying. "She'll come around. But now if you'll excuse me, there's a door I need to unlock."

It doesn't take me long to plant all the flowers and water them, and once I finish with that, I roll the supplies back to Thom as he manages the grisly task of recovering bodies and burying them. It's no small task considering that, despite the supplies they have to facilitate the labor — a trivial part of me wonders where the horses came from — the number of workers could easily be counted within a few seconds. Despite knowing how I'd likely react to handling the remains, I feel obligated to help. However, before I can do that, something interrupts my train of thought:

_CLANK_

"You hear that?"

Behind his respiratory mask, Thom's face scrunches a bit in a small frown. "Hear what?"

_CLANK_

"That! That metal noise." It's faint, but still sounds like someone hammering on sheet metal.

"Oh that… Probably our visitor."

"Visitor?"

"Arrived on the same supply train that brought you here; probably didn't notice him because you were busy… yeah. Anyways, moment he disembarked, the guy just wandered off aimlessly," a shrug accompanies Thom's statement as he scratches the back of his head. "Poor fellow seemed to be lost, but he shrugged off any help. And by the time you came to, he disappeared."

"Well, apparently he's reappeared," I mutter as I follow the rhythmic clanging to its source.

The sound leads me back towards the train station, though I take a slight right up a wide path. As I stand before the long yet low-level building with large adjacent depots and landing pads, it vaguely occurs to me that I'm in the old Peacekeeper garrison. However, the status and purpose of this complex didn't save it from being bombed any more than the Justice Building or Seam. What used to be a massive sturdy structure of yellow brick to hold a large unit of Peacekeepers is now caved in and blackened from the inferno, while the depots are just leveled footprints with hunks of twisted metal of what used to be utility vehicles and weapons. And I don't miss the fact that many of the human remains around here have what looks to be armor still attached. Though considering the devastation, there's a conspicuous lack of hovercraft wreckage.

_CLANK_

That sound, ever closer, prompts me to walk into the larger and now-roofless building, despite anxiety of a wall potentially collapsing atop me… which, all things considered, would probably be a fairly anti-climactic way to die.

Anyways, the interior maze of distorted metal frames — I try not to notice the bodies that have fused within them — that I must navigate seems to signify that this used to be the barracks. And upon that realization, and as I slow my pace to conceal myself, I find the source.

Because sitting in the middle of the collapsed structure is a young man hammering on a piece of metal with what looks like an ornate cane. Honestly, he looks like he could originate from the Seam, but there's something about the way he dressed that seems to hint that's not the case, though I can't quite put my figure on where he's really from. In any case, possible origins and even the ragged scar that mars his cheek take a secondary precedence to the expression on his face. The sort of vacancy and focus expression of someone who has seen too much, especially at a young age, yet somehow has come across something that still surprises him… and not in a good way.

It's probably best to hang back and leave this guy to… whatever he—

"I know you're there, Mellark." Or I could just make myself known. I could ask him how he knows who I am, though I realize how dumb that would be. "You can approach if you want. It's not like it's my place to tell what you can't do in your own district," Besides the last part of the youth's muttered statement, that little accent I can pick up behind the gravelly yet dull quality of his voice confirms that he's definitely not from around here; though I still can't pinpoint where it's from.

In any case, I decided to take him up on his offer and approach carefully. At this point, he's stopped banging that cane against that indiscernible chunk of metal and is merely using the former to prod the latter. When I'm practically on top of the guy, I'm finally able to get a better look at the cane: the majority of it is a beautifully carved light wood, with a spiral of intricate designs the whole way through, except for the handle which looks like it's made of an antler and has just one small little decal on it; a moment passes before I figure out what that decal is, and when I do, I can't help but raise my eyebrows a bit.

It's a Peacekeeper sigil.

Honestly, at this point, all I'm thinking is how gusty this guy must be to still adhere to that symbol and walk into this district with it. On the upside, I think I finally figured out where he's from; though that now I think about it, there's also something a bit familiar about this former Peacekeeper.

As if he's able to read my mind, he mutters, "Yes, I was a Peacekeeper. Is that going to be a problem?" There's actually no challenging tone in that; it's as if he sincerely wants to know if his presence is going to cause any issue.

So I decide to humor him: "As long as you don't cause any." In the meantime, I take a seat on a piece of rubble before noting, "You were causing a slight ruckus earlier, though. Are you alright?"

A snort is emanated from the former Peacekeeper, yet he refrains from looking me in the eye. "I… I just needed to see things for myself…" I'm about to ask what he means by that before he states: "After the end of the Quarter Quell, Commander Thread came back with his unit and told us that, in the process of defying the Capitol, District Twelve managed to destroy itself in the chaos that followed Katniss Everdeen's stunt. The Capitol broadcast told the same story."

"What." I'm barely able to hold down the surge of anger that accompanies my baffled statement. District Twelve got bombed to oblivion, and yet they had the gall to tell the rest of the nation that it was _our_ fault?

If I'm showing any sign of the anger that I feel, the former Peacekeeper makes no note of it, but merely continues: "Well as the war progressed, the message was changed to be tha Thirteen disguised its hoverplanes as Peacekeeper bombers to rally the districts. And considering the death and destruction that oh-so-glorious Rebellion visited upon anybody who did not fall in line with them, how could any loyalist not see the logic in that?" Okay, now that one I don't have an answer for; it's not like Thirteen was a paragon of virtue, and I've seen enough in the Capitol to know that the rebels weren't exactly clean in what they did either. "But even after it became clear ever to us just how much heinous shit the Capitol was responsible for… Even when I came here to get an inkling of the loss you suffered… a small part of I had hoped that maybe… _just maybe_ this was merely a false flag operation like in the Capitol. That our own Soldiers in White weren't responsible for sacrificing thousands of innocents and their _own comrades_ just to prove some political point…

"That is… until I came across this:" As he taps that cane again, I realize what that piece of metal is: an bomb. Suddenly I can feel myself pucker up a bit at the sight, and I don't know whether to run away screaming or simply punch this guy for being a moron. However, the former Peacekeeper intercepts my thoughts: "It's inert; I already checked."

"Still…" Okay, and maybe my voice is coming out a bit higher than expected.

"The point I'm making is that these incendiary is of a new and specialized make developed within the last couple years. There's no way at all the rebels would have been able to steal them to do a false-flag operation. And I've come across enough intact and fragmented examples that still have the serial codes that will likely prove that these aren't copies either." It's then that he actually looks up at me, and past that vacant stare I can finally see the guilt and torment that is corroding him. "It means that we were responsible. For all our talk about courage and honor and upholding order, we were responsible for this… for this… this…"

Instead of being completed, the sentence comes out strangled and finally devolves into an inarticulate scream, and the former Peacekeeper kicks at the inert hunk of metal before letting his cane clatter to the ground as he clutches his head in his hands while rocking back and forth.

I'll admit, due to the denial that this guy admitted to, a small part of me feels a sort of satisfaction at seeing his little realization tear into him like a serrated knife, and another part is already thinking of the right things to say that will twist that knife further. But… even without knowing that this guy was willing come here to do some fact-checking… even without knowing that completely decent individuals came from that district and even served as Peacekeepers… even without knowing how District Two suffered as well during the war… the piteous sight before me enough to wash away that temptation to do something really dickish.

So despite my pervious anger, I sidle up next to him to rest an arm across his shoulders. As he trembles with broken sobs, the guy releases a just-as-broken and_ extremely_ profane string of damnations — for all their martial rigidity, folks from Two have a capacity to be quite… creative and colorful in their speech patterns, especially when they're pissed off — towards Thread, Snow, the Capitol, and his own district's willful blindness and complicity…

After a few minutes, he must have run out of steam as the profanities fade away and his breathing evens out a bit before he murmurs, "I now can see what put that seed of destruction in Gale's heart. It in no way excuses what he did, but I can see how this… this _atrocity_ turned him into that butcher."

The mention of Gale's name finally jogs in my mind as to what's so familiar about this former Peacekeeper. "You must be Marcus Wilson." He seems to register a bit of surprise that I'm able to recall his name, so I add, "Gale talked about you a couple times when he had to stay in the Capitol."

The surprise doesn't appear to abate any, but Wilson states, "You can just call me Marcus."

"Only if you call me Peeta," I counter in good cheer… in relation to the circumstances; I may just be imagining things, but I swear that the corner of Marcus' mouth twitches in response. "In any case, I've been told that you're a good person… if apparently a bit humorless."

"Like Gale should talk…"

Now that gives me a good chuckle before I sober up to add, "More importantly, I've been told you did your best to protect Katniss, which always makes you good in my book."

If Marcus was surprised before, he's utterly incredulous now. "After I originally planned on killing her! I held a gun to her face! What's good about that?"

For some reason, as irrational as it may be, his counter results in a fit of giggles going through me, and before long I'm in full hysterics. As my vision clears, I can see that Marcus does seem to share my amusement, especially when he asks, "Uh… what's so funny?"

I don't even allow my chortles to abate when I respond: "Have you seen our first Games?"

"Yeah… your point?"

"My point is that Katniss dropped a fucking tracker jacker nest on me. Not to mention that for a split second, she was willing to send an arrow into my heart. Not exactly 'Star-crossed Lovers' material there," I note with a chuckle. I don't mention the instances where I tried to kill _her_, which are far less funny.

"Oh…"

"Yeah… 'oh' is about right. But you know what? In the end, she saved my life a couple times." _I hope I saved hers…_ "Honestly, I can't blame you for being more than a bit pissed off in that situation, and in the end it doesn't matter; what matters is that not only you weren't the one to actually shoot her, but decided to act as a shield when things got nasty. So I'm not going to judge you on what _might_ have happened but rather what the end result was." _Because I damn myself enough as it is._

"Oh… uh… thanks?" _Real confident right there…_ "How is she?"

"She could… be better." That's all I'll say to the situation, and Marcus gives me a small sympathetic grimace. Wanting to change the subject before I can dwell upon it, I ask, "What does Gale think about you being here?"

"He doesn't know." _Huh._ "Like I said, I needed to see this for myself, under my own initiative."

That actually makes sense, and it increases my estimation of his decency.

"Peeta…" Now though, all I can notice is that he's now looking at me with an expression of someone who's about to try to tactfully say something in which there's no easy way to put it. But before I can head him off, the former Peacekeeper says, "Gale told me what happened… what happened to Darius."

Definitely not liking where this is going, and I'm trying desperately not remember where… _No, just don't think about it!_ "I…"

"But Gale didn't see it directly… he was reliant on second-hand info… Though…" _Don't say it… Please don't say it… _"he told me you were the last one to see my best friend."

_Oh no…_ By now, I can't miss the mixture of hope, denial, and dread interplaying on Marcus' face. "Marcus…"

Even as I whisper that, I know there's no dissuading him. So I begin to steel myself for the coming blow.

"Please… just tell me… did Darius suffer?"

Did he suffer? Darius… who was beaten and had questions screamed at him even though he couldn't respond. Who's twisted cries were responded to by the guards mocking his prior service. Does that count as suffering? Is it suffering when fingers are cut off… then toes… then… other parts…

_Stop! STOP IT! I'm begging you! Stop hurting him! I'll do what you want! I'll say what you want! I'LL DO ANYTHING! JUST PLEASE STOP!_

Wait… no… too late… he's dead already. Yeah that's right… took him days to finally expire. Yep… there he is… or what's left of him… those remains hanging outside my cell… replacing Lavinia's… just hanging there… hanging there for days… Huh… oh so that's how Boggs was able to confirm my question.

_NO WAIT BOGGS DON'T—_

Explosions… the commander lying there… no legs… blood pooling between cobblestones… blood painting the walls… so much blood… Now that mutt swooping—wait… no… that's not right… she's not a mutt. I'm the mutt… I'm the—

_MITCHELL GET AWAY FROM ME!_

More blood… a rain of blood… a rain of black… chaos… screaming…

_Look what you did you worthless creature!_

_But I didn't mean to…_

_Doesn't matter. It's still your fault. If you were stronger, none of this would have happened._

_No…_

_You know it's true. _

_Please…_

_Instead you were weak…_

_Stop…_

_Worthless…_

_STOP!_

_Little shit…_

_I… it's_… I__…__ I'm sorry__…___  
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_Ah__… you see clearly, don't you. _

__…_ Yes._

_So who's fault is this?_

_Mine._

_What's that again?_

_This is all my fault._

_All of this is because of you._

_My fault… My fault… My fault…_


	3. Watching Over

"Welcome back to the land of the living… or what passes as such."

The familiar slurred voice enters my mind at the same time that a just-as-familiar scruff-laden face materializes. "Haymitch?"

Sure enough, my mentor is sitting on a chair next to me as I'm sprawled on what's probably his coach.

"Ever observant, boy," he states with a raise of a bottle.

"So I've been told," I mutter. "So why I am in your house?"

"Thank Limpy here for that." It's then that I see Marcus slouched in another chair and holding a mixture of sheepishness and nausea on his face; considering the state of the room, I don't exactly blame him for said nausea. I also don't miss how his expression morphs into a scowl — it reaches Seam-levels of displeasure — at Haymitch's nickname; he'll probably have to get used to it.

"You began shaking and seizing up on yourself," the former Peacekeeper mumbles, while clearly refraining from making eye contact with me. "I… I didn't know what to do, so I ran to get the same guy who greeted me earlier today, and he carried you in his cart on the way back."

I'll have to thank Thom for that later. "I didn't lash out or was being difficult in the process?" I inquire. It's actually always a bit surreal when someone else describes how I am whenever I'm having an episode.

Marcus shakes his head. "If anything, you just balled up tighter at the presence of our touch, which made it easy to transport you." A huff of air is let off. "Anyways, we didn't know who could take care of you, so Mr. Abernathy was the most reasonable choice."

"Limpy actually had the bright idea of shaking me awake." At my mentor's words, I don't miss that Marcus' cane has what looks to be large jagged slash marks… or that one sleeve is torn and stained dark. _Dammit Haymitch… _

Before I can express my anger at what had happened, the former Peacekeeper shakes his head. "Should've been more aware." _Are you kidding me?_

"Damn straight. I expect more from someone who's grown up in Two Victors' Village." Marcus' jaw practically drops at that statement, but Haymitch just responds to it with a sneer. "I may be a useless drunk, but I still got a bit of edge left. I know you're Olympia's kid, and don't think I don't recognize you from the square." Almost forgot about that; Gale told me that he had the families of two victors living under his roof now, and while in the Capitol, he had worked to bring to justice the prick who was responsible for said victors' deaths.

In response, Marcus just murmurs something barely audible, though I think it's, "I'm sorry I tried to kill your Mockingjay, sir."

My mentor hears it clearly and guffaws, "Well, you should've seen all the times these lovebirds have tried to do the same to each other. So I'm not going to judge you on that; only what you did afterwards." I almost let of a laugh of my own at that near-mirroring of my earlier conversation. Haymitch then adds, "Anyways, I'll say this: you got some damn good reflexes."

"Thank you, sir," Marcus acknowledges before looking down at his cane. "Though, respectfully, you're not exactly the hardest person to parry and disarm. Also, I'm not sure if Rory's going to be amazed or pissed off at the addition you made to his handiwork."

And at that, all three of us erupt into laughter. Not something that's born out of sarcasm or unease, but genuine laughter out of good humor. It's probably a strange subject to find funny — actually, it's downright stupid — but then again I've long since dissociated myself from any sense of normalcy. All things considered, there aren't really enough reasons to laugh these days, and so we'll get whatever chance we can.

Of course, after we allow the chuckles to subside — I think it's been almost five minutes — I have to be the one to put a damper on the situation. "So… how long was I out?"

Yep, judging by the uneasy glances Haymitch and Marcus are sending each other, I'm definitely serving my purpose as a wet blanket, and the former Peacekeeper decides to be the one to reply, "It's been a couple hours since we first talked to now."

Damn, so this has been one of the worst ones so far. "Well… at least we know that I'm not going to go all mutt on everybody." And it seems like I've been better at predicting the onset of my episodes and holding them off for a few critical seconds to give me and others time to prepare. Still, it would probably be good to have a bit more solid contingency plan for whenever I feel something particularly bad coming up.

Despite my reassuring words and light tone, Marcus looks even more sheepish and shamefaced than before. "I… I've heard that you had… things done to you but…" An expression of disgust creeps in as he shakes his head. "I can't believe I supported those monsters. I put my trust in them, even after Mother warned me not to. My entire district put their trust in the Capitol…"

For some reason, as he's saying that, a sort of realization seems to begin to dawn on the former Peacekeeper's face, and he quickly gets up and moves — okay, I can see why Haymitch calls him "Limpy" — for the door.

The suddenness of the action takes me back a bit, and I ask, "Leaving already?"

"The train heads back west in a few hours; that only gives me a short amount of time to take care of something important." There's no futher elaboration as he reaches the door. "By the way, it was good meeting you, Peeta."

"Likewise; though I hope we'll see each other again under better circumstances."

Marcus gives a small nod at that. "Get better; both of you." A moment's pause passes before, with a pointed look to Haymitch, he adds, "Just to be clear, I'm not talking about you, sir." And after a dodging a thrown pillow, he's out.

"Passive-aggressive punk…" Haymitch mutters with a shake of his head followed by him giving a glance towards me. "So you're finally back."

"Dr. Aurelius gave me the all-clear," I remark. "So… I hear that you've been staying in here the whole time." _While Katniss has suffered._ My attempt at keeping my tone conversational is a bit undermined by the slight traces of anger that creeps into my voice.

"Not wasting any time getting to the point, are you, boy."

Okay, nevermind; I'm downright furious. "You… you and I made a promise to keep Katniss safe. I wanted to help but was held back in the Capitol to make sure I would not constitute a threat. You on the other hand… you're supposed to be her legal guardian. What excuse do you have to not fulfill that simple… fucking… job?" No answer greets me, and my vision begins to blur as I rise up off the sofa to stand over my mentor. "What, no smartass retort? Have you crawled so far into that bottle to be incapable of speech? This is a simple question; why haven't you done anything? Why? WHY? ANSWER ME DAMMIT!"

Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, the bottle closest to me goes from sitting on the table to being hurled across the room; glass shards go everywhere, and the contents run down the wall. It doesn't satisfy me however, and as the table crashes onto its side, I send other things flying; all the while I yell every hateful thing I can think of at this drunken oath-breaking piece of shit. After a while though, my anger ebbs away along with my waning energy, until all I can do is pant while surveying the damage I've just wreaked.

I didn't even know that it was possible for this place be trashed more than it already was, but I guess that I've just achieved the impossible. Yet Haymitch doesn't look the least bit upset at my little rampage; rather he has an uncharacteristic expression of patience on his face.

"Feel better?"

Normally, you'd expect that kind of question to be laden with a sardonic tone jabbing at my infantile outburst. However, there's not even the slightest trace of sarcasm to be had in there; in fact, it sound completely sincere as if he's genuinely asking if I'm feeling better. "I… I don't know." And just like that, the only emotion I feel is that of weariness as I sink back down into the sofa and rest my head in my hands. "Please… just tell me why you haven't done anything to help Katniss. I know it's not because you don't care, no matter what you say."

"If you know us so well," he retorts quietly, "then you'd know how stubborn she is when she puts her mind to something. The few times I've been there, all she's done is just sit in that chair and sleep, and it's hard enough for Sae to get her to eat food. Even if I could offer some sort of help, it's not like she's going to accept it."

"That's still no excuse," I growl. "Even if you feel you have nothing to contribute, you could have just stayed with her, even if it's to be drunk there."

"I'm not the one she wants."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seriously, what's that supposed to be mean?

For whatever reason, Haymitch just stares at me for an indeterminate amount of time before shaking his head. "If I have to explain it, then I'm going to be wasting both our times."

If there's one thing I recognize, it's a dismissal. I still offer to help clean up, but my efforts are waved off.

"Seriously though, Haymitch," I state on my way out, "I'm sorry how I acted earlier, but I really hope you'll shape up sometime. Find a hobby or something. And please don't shut us out."

"I can't make any promises," he mutters. As I leave, I swear that I hear, "I've broken enough of them as it is."

I offer no rebuke to that as I trudge… I really don't know where. Maybe I can just make a hobby of wandering aimlessly around the Victors' Village.

That's when, as I pass by Katniss' house, I hear the sounds floating out the open window; a haunting cross between a sob and song.

I'm at war with myself upon hearing that. I mean, I want to help; I really do. I want to gather her into my arms to tell her that everything will be alright. However, the incident from this morning showed me how much she wanted my help, and I don't want to impose on her.

Once that keening reaches a new level of heartrending intensity though, I throw all caution to the wind and rush inside. By the time I reach Katniss, I see that she's already worn herself out and is losing consciousness while curling into a ball.

_Oh Katniss…_

To my surprise, that cat's still around — more than a bit worse for wear but still around — and actually seeming to pace around her as if on guard; it's a bit funny as I think the two hated each other. Still, when I approach, he looks up, flattens his ears, and hisses as me.

"Yeah," I mutter, "you don't like me. Well get in line."

Despite the hisses, he makes no move to stop me as I gather Katniss into my arms — she's so light; too light — and pick her up. It's probably just reflexes on her part, but it feels like she curls into me as I go up the stairs. She also clings to my arm as I lay her out on the already-made bed.

Something like a jolt of electricity flies ip and down my arm at her touch, but I put the feeling down. Still as I take in Katniss' features — despite how thin she is, she actually looks so peaceful right now — I feel myself leaning forward. Catching myself with just a couple inches between us, I simply brush her hair back Before making my exit; the last thing I need to is make things worse with my presence. She doesn't need me looming over her.

"I trust you to look after her. Can you do that?" I ask the cat. As if in direct response to me, he hops right on the window sill as if to keep sentinel. "Good boy."

As I reach the doorway, something prompts me to look back and murmur, "Just know that if ever you need me for anything, I'll always be here for you."

_Always…_


	4. A Helping Hand

When the next morning rolls around, and Sae and I arrive with a fresh loaf of bread I just baked, we find Katniss already up and about. Well… about as active as she can be in her current state. She simultaneously looks well-rested yet completely drained, if that's even possible. At the same time, there seems to be this positive air about her as if she had just gotten something off her chest; still, I don't press her about it.

Actually we eat breakfast in relative silence even though I do inquire Sae about the status of Twelve as of this moment, as well as the delicious hash and stew she cooked up; it actually uses real beef. While I'd like to speak with Katniss, and occasionally do send her an encouraging glance, I think that it'd be the most fair if she's the one to instigate things on her own terms. I do get a kick out of the fact that she's feeding the cat all her bacon, considering their enmity; well, I guess former enmity now.

Lunch goes the same way. In this case, we set up a picnic blanket in the middle of the houses, and invite the rest of the current inhabitants to take a break to join us. I even convince Haymitch to participate; okay, it may have taken a bucket of ice water and a threat to cut off alcohol shipments, but what matters is that he's here, relatively sober, and not being that much of a jackass at the moment. Katniss still doesn't say much, but the large-ish group of people isn't instigating her flight instinct, and it may be minor but I swear I can see some life creeping back into her cheeks as she allows Sae's granddaughter to braid her hair.

I also finally do take the time to visit the bakery and things… didn't go as badly as I thought they would, and Thom thankfully has everyone give me space both during the episode and when I start speaking to my family members; when I finally walk away from that melted lump of an oven, I feel utterly drained — even more than usual — yet it almost feels as if something is no longer exerting a painful amount of pressure on my insides and skull.

In the meantime, while it's clear that I'm no use directly assisting in the cleanup process — I tried, and all that I managed to accomplish was to distract everyone from their initial job in helping me deal with my episode — I manage help in another way by baking various treats for all the workers each morning; it's actually the first time some of them ever had pastries.

It goes like this for the next couple days: get up out of bed, bake before sunrise, have breakfast in Katniss' house with her and Sae, bring treats to the workers and chat with them, host the picnic lunch, paint or draw a bit, have dinner by myself, go to bed, and have my nightmare-laden slumber interrupted at intermittent periods during the night with me waking up in sheer terror. All in all, it's a nice consistent routine.

However, almost a week after I had arrived, and as I'm handing some cookies to the workers near the train station, something comes around which pretty much demolishes said routine.

"The hell…"

Thom's comment makes look up to see that a train is rolling into the station. However, it's not one of the daily freighters, which had already arrived; no, this thing is way more massive, with each car large enough to contain several vehicles on both decks. After a few moments, I finally realize what this is: a troop transport. From what I've learned, these trains were used by the Peacekeepers to carry their troops — each train is capable of transporting a brigade's worth of soldiers, _plus_ supplies and vehicles — from district to district, and during the war, many were captured to be repurposed for the Rebellion.

Though why is there one here?

I'm not the only person internally asking that question considering the looks of confusion and concern on everybody else's face, or how some are holding a tighter grip on their tools. Especially since this is not repainted in the standard issue of rebel vehicles; rather, the scuffed-up Capitol emblem shining in the morning light looks as if someone made a haphazard attempt at scrubbing it away but called it quits within a short period of time.

Finally the train slows to the stop and the doors slide open to reveal a crowd of people inside. Most are able-bodied adults who are probably in their twenties, thirties, and forties; however, there's a good number of elders and teenagers mixed in as well. In any case, they may not be in uniform, but it doesn't take us long to figure out that every single person in that train is from Two.

"What is this?" I can't help but blurt out.

"This," states a familiar voice, "is our penance."

Despite my initial shock at the turn of events, I still have enough wits about me to shake Marcus' hand as he steps forward from the crowd before asking, "Care to elaborate?"

"When I went back, I brought a bomb fragment with me that had the serial number. We used that, along with documents found in the Head Peacekeeper's office, to confirm that our forces were responsible for what happened. So it was decided that our responsibility now is to show our people first-hand what we were complicit to, and hopefully to make amends by helping out with the cleanup process."

"Well we don't need your help!" jeers one of the guys from the work group. "Your district has done enough as it is to ours."

Marcus doesn't say anything to that but merely looks down to mutter, "Yeah, I know. And if you don't want us here, we won't take it personally."

Thom looks at the source of the outburst with a glare that silences any further dissent, though he still says, "Well it's not like we can stop you either way." That's true; there's about twenty of us and probably way more of them.

The former Peacekeeper just shakes his head at that, "We don't want things to be like that; if we're going to contribute any, we don't want to be an unwelcome presence. We want for you to want our help."

Not even a couple seconds passes for that to sink in before the former miner breathes, "Finally." And after a glance around to make sure there're no objections — sure, there's some scowls here and there, but nothing past that — he pulls Marcus into a hug while saying, "We'll take all the help we can get. So yes, you all are welcome here."

As the hug is broken off, Marcus briefly looks completely at a loss for words before he finally restores his composure. "I… well… in that case, everyone here is at your discretion." As if those words are a release valve, the people come streaming out before us to stand in formations. There… there has to be _at least_ a couple thousand of them.

Our eyes widen not just at the sight but the implication as well, and I can't help but blurt out, "You mean… Thom's your boss?"

"Actually all of you from this district are essentially our bosses. Whatever you order — within reason of course — we'll do without objection. The same goes for the following set of workers that will be coming here." _There's more?_

Thom actually looks and sounds like he's about to cry when he vocalizes my unspoken query: "There's… there's going to be more?"

"All these people are just here for the day. At sunset, they'll return, but a new batch will come by tomorrow, and so on. This isn't just to provide help, but to inform as many of our people what happened," the former Peacekeeper clarifies. "However, we'll keep a log to make the transition as seamless as possible. And all supplies and vehicles will be staying." To punctuate that last point, utility vehicles and trucks full of various tools come rolling out of the trains.

This is more than any of us would expect. We have just gone from a handful of people working with a paltry amount of tools to having a practical army — well in some ways literal, considering the likely backgrounds of most of the people before us — at our use.

So, considering how much he has toiled, it's understandable that Thom embraces Marcus — the former Peacekeeper looks more and more at a loss by the minute — again for a longer period of time while rambling his thanks in an incoherent manner. When he finally lets go, I don't miss that both guys wipe at their eyes before the former miner thickly makes his next statement:

"Well then… let's get started."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Happy New Years.**


	5. Confessions

As if a pressure valve is released at Thom's words, people begin to stream out of the trains.

You can see the discipline that's hammered into Twofers from a young age at work upon their exit as most seem to have a stoic air about them. Though at the same time, many others have an air of resentment and reluctance, as if they were forced to be here.

That all changes when they walk further.

Because when these new arrivals get a good look at the ruins of this community, their demeanor takes a sharp downturn and most of them — even the ones who obviously seen and experienced a lot this past year — seem to be frozen in horror as they survey the devastation. Stoicism breaks and resentment is replaced with wide-eyed shock.

After the initial shock, the crowd continues on its way in a markedly subdued manner. And indeed, when Thom and the others begin to assign them roles, they take their responsibilities without complaint, with the only possible commentary being requests for clarification.

If the Twofers were bothered when they arrived, actually working here seems to tear into them further. One youth would have reminded me of a brown-haired Cato due to his height and athletic build… except for the fact that he begins vomiting and wears a stricken expression on his face when the retching stops; all the while, his companion — a redhead who has to be close to a foot shorter than him — tries to get him going even though she herself seems quite grim. A group of well-dressed elders remain in despondent silence as they walk through what used to be the Peacekeeper complex. And, even with his respirator on, a man — one who most likely fought during the war as a Peacekeeper, judging by his relatively fresh scars and the white-ish jacket he wears — can be seen visibly breaking down as he carries the charred remains of a child.

Then again, it makes sense. From what I've been told, most of the real assholes among the Peacekeepers have either been killed off in the war through combat or executions… or they became even bigger assholes by joining the Corsairs or Heirs of Winter. That leaves human beings who were simply on the wrong side; many of whom probably have friends and loved ones of their own. I won't mince words though, because they were on the _wrong,_ not just opposite, side even when factoring in Thirteen and the monster that's Coin. At the same time, it would not just be a dick move to vocally remind them of that fact; our surroundings seem to be sending a clearer message than anything I could attempt to say.

While it's clear that they're aware of my presence, most of the Twofers here seem to be actively avoiding me as much as possible, with any glance my way followed quickly by their eyes going to the ground. The strange thing is that they don't seem to be ignoring me out of spite; actually, for whatever reason that escapes my attention, it's almost as if they're _afraid _to speak to me.

However, eventually one of them decides to break away from that pattern and walks in my direction, albeit with an obvious amount of hesitation. As he gets closer, it occurs to me that it's the same boy I saw puking earlier, and next to him the girl is evidently trying to dissuade him from approaching me.

So right when he's a couple feet away, and before he can change his mind — it's clear that he's only a few thoughts away from turning around and fleeing — I decide to initiate the conversation: "Mornin'. Can I help you?"

If anything, my question seems to distress the guy further, and he proceeds to mumble, "This… this isn't who we are. We… I…"

"Give it a rest, Nero," the girl mutters; her attempts to steer him away from me finally appear to come to fruition. "Like Bread Boy wants to talk to any of us." Despite the harsh tone in which that statement is delivered, I don't miss how heavy it is with resignation.

In any case, Nero's shoulders slump as he bows his head and begins shuffling away. "Yeah, you're probably right, Claudia." For a brief moment though, he raises his head to glance back at me and offer up a quiet, "We-I'm sorry."

"Wait!" That monosyllabic exclamation forces itself out of my throat before I even know what's happening, and I end up trotting towards the two youths who look at me with surprise.

Or in Claudia's case, suspicion laced with resentment. "What do you want, Mellark?" It's obvious that she's trying to be brusque with the query, but it instead comes out tired and weary. Granted, when you consider everything that has happened this past year, who wouldn't be tired? "Come to rub this in our faces?"

That question forms a wall of incredulity that causes me to halt in my tracks. "Why would I want to rub your faces in this?" Seriously, everybody's already suffered enough.

"Why wouldn't you? I know how you outer-district rubes view us; how you view our Careers and Peacekeepers. Well, now you got us! This is your chance to tell us what monsters we are, how we should be treated like shit. I know that's what I wanted to do when the Butcher visited Camp Victim and the Aedes Bellonae." As she finishes that statement, I don't miss the crack that sounds off at the end of it. I also begin to notice that, while they hold the same sort of fitness any Peacekeeper or Career would have, there is a bony quality to their features; it's as if they're just recovering from being starved for a long time. And I have a bad feeling that I know why that is.

"I don't think Hawthorne was responsible for Camp Victory," Nero quietly murmurs, thought I can see the slightest flash of anger go through his eyes when he mentions the place. "And remember that he was the one who fixed the place up before Paylor let us out."

"It doesn't change what we went through. It doesn't change the fact that I almost became some Corsair's toy, with you being the only one to stop that from happening. And it sure as hell doesn't change whose actions that landed us there in the first place. So I got a kick out of it when he got hit hard with realization as to what an utter shit he is." As she surveys the devastation around us, a sneer forms on her face and a harsh laugh bubbles up. "But I guess the joke's on us. So what are you waiting for? Come on; tell us what awful fucks we are. How we all deserved what came to us. Come on!"

I can only shake my head at that and say, "No."

My response doesn't seem to be that well-received considering how Claudia shoves me back, which causes Nero to let out a yelp of dismay in turn as he restrains her. "Why not? That's what those from the other districts are saying. That's what _he's_ saying!" she screams while pointing to the worker who originally wanted them out. "You have all the cards in your hands! So why aren't you gloating? WHY?"

That I don't say anything to that just goads her further, and a minute passes as she screams obscenities and disparaging comments about me and Twelve; it's undoubtedly to try and provoke me into snapping back. However, I don't take the bait — at least not right now; some of the guys here seem to be willing to take my place, but a warning look from Thom keeps them at bay — because some part of me understands where all that anger is coming from.

So I let that storm pass before I finally respond: "So you want me to say something? Anything?"

"Yes!"

"Alright…" _Okay, allow for dramatic pause, and then…_ "You're all horrible people who aren't even worthy of death, and what happened to your district was but a fraction of what it deserved."

Regardless of whether a statement is true or false, the key to making one believable is to inject genuine emotion into it. In this case, I actually tap into lingering anger as to what the Capitol was responsible for and allow it lace my words with the right amount of venom.

And it gives just the desired reaction as you can almost hear all activity around me immediately screech to a halt. At the very least, the silence becomes palatable — when it's not being punctuated with the clatter of tools and rubble being dropped — and when I look up, everyone within proximity is frozen in place while staring at me in a wide-eyed and occasionally slackjawed manner. Marcus and Thom have matching expressions of disbelief — with a bit of anger appearing in the former — and I might as well have kneed Nero in the gut. Even the guy who made no secret of his resentment towards our current guests — not to mention his wish for their expulsion — looks to be utterly gobsmacked.

Claudia herself doesn't seem to be sure as to whether she should kill me or remain in a state of shock. "What."

It's always good to know that I got some of it left.

Of course, I'm going to have to work quickly before said collective state of shock shifts to one of pissed-off. "Don't act so surprised. That's what you wanted to hear, right: me rubbing salt into your wounds? Well…" I muse while steepling my fingers, "now that I did just the thing, does it make you feel any better?"

"Not really, no," she mutters.

"Of course it shouldn't. Because it's a completely asshole-ish thing to say; not to mention it's not even remotely true.

"Look, don't get me wrong. I hated how you guys blindly supported the Capitol; I hated how the Games were trumpeted as a wonderful thing and kids were brainwashed to actually enjoy killing other kids; I hated how your Peacekeepers enforced brutality and starvation amongst the districts." While Nero looks contrite when I say that, it's clear that Claudia's beginning to close up again. That's why my second point's coming up: "However, I never hated Two itself or the people in it. Despite the Games, I certainly didn't hate Cato or Clove or Enobaria. And I knew enough Peacekeepers to know that not all of them were like Thread or the ones who… oversaw me in the Capitol. As of now, I still don't hate you all."

"What about Brutus?" Nero asks.

"Okay, he was an asshole. But I certainly didn't enjoy killing him if that's what you're wondering, and my point still stands," I state before sighing. "In the end, I'm sorry for what happened to all of you; I really am. Unlike what you're all doing here — which I'm thankful for, no matter what you think — I know all I'm saying are just words that give nothing back to Two. But it's honestly how I feel; if you don't accept that, I'd completely understand."

By this point activity has resumed around us, which I take to be a good sign. However, before I can get too comfortable, the next words are uttered by me before I can stop them: "For what it's worth, and while others were probably not so lucky, I'm honestly glad your run-ins with the Corsairs stayed in the 'almost' realm."

_Shit shit shit… Why did I say that? WHY DID I SAY THAT?_ I meant for the statement to come out reassuringly, but even I notice how my voice is laced with bitterness. And to my horror, I can see the pieces of a puzzle — a puzzle that I'd rather keep to myself; only Annie, Johanna, and Dr. Aurelius knows what happened — being put together in the girl's mind and her eyes widening as a result. It takes a bit longer for Nero to figure things out upon seeing his partner's face, but when he does an even greater expression of horror settles over him. At this point, I don't want them to respond; I just want to crawl into a hole. Though I'll admit that, on the upside, it seems I no longer go into an episode whenever the subject's mentioned.

Of either of the two, Nero has to be the first to recover. "I'm sor—"

"No," I growl, not even caring about harsh I sound. "I don't need or want any apologies; we aren't going to discuss this in any sort of way. Do I make myself clear?"

"… I… was going to say that I was sorry about the… uh… baby?" At Nero's backtracking, I don't miss that Claudia's currently pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering obscenities.

However that's not what I'm thinking about. What I'm thinking about — what's threatening to cloud my vision — is this: "Are… are they still dragging it out?"

While the guy looks utterly confused at my gritted query, Claudia looks up with a vicious grin on her face and blurts out with glee, "I knew it! I knew you made that story up for sponsor money!"

This time though, she seems to be taken aback by whatever look I'm giving her. "If you think it was for those damn sponsors, you clearly weren't paying good enough attention. Still… after all that… I can't believe they… they…" And just like that, my internal mediator shorts out. "PLUTARCH YOU FUCK!"

What follows on the heels of that eloquent statement is me taking the place of Claudia as the one who screams obscenities in a rage-laden tirade; though in my case, it's mostly aimed at the Capitol and the manipulative piece of lard that's serving as our Secretary of Communications. Also, when I finally run out of energy, my vision clears up to reveal that what used to be pieces of burnt wood in my immediate area have been reduced to splinters, with the larger pieces no longer in said immediate area; I don't think that pipe that's sticking out of a charred tree trunk was there previously.

Okay, maybe Dr. Aurelius is right and I need to channel my aggravations into something constructive. I'm not the only one to realize this considering the even wider berth everybody seems to currently be giving me… or how Nero has put around ten feet between us and, despite the look of worry on his face, is standing in front of Claudia — at least she's no longer gleeful; utterly bemused is a better term — in a shielding manner.

It still takes a few deep panting breaths get everything somewhat under control before I even try to say anything. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You have issues, Mellark," the girl mutters with a shake of her head.

"So I've been told," I chirp back.

"Does this mean there's no baby?" Nero asks with a pout.

With a sigh of exasperation, his companion turns to face him: "Nero… I love you. But seriously, you can be a moron sometimes. Also, what's your obsession with babies?"

If that was supposed to be a putdown, it doesn't seem to work. If anything, an expression crossed between surprise and hope creeps up on the youth's face as he asks, "You love me?"

For once, I can see Claudia's complexion flush considerably and match the hue of her hair. "I… well… why wouldn't anyone admire you? In a way your idealism can be a pain in the ass, but that you maintained it through the war and even after Camp Victim is pretty damn impressive; not to mention the times you saved my life and that of the others. And there's something about… Nevermind that! It's not like it means anything by itself. Like I said, I'm not the only person who admired you. I…" As she devolves into incoherent stammering, the two of us just exchange glances for a moment before she finally looks down and sighs before muttering, "… Fuck it. Yes, I love you. I've loved you for quite some time."

She's barely able to finish that statement before a grinning Nero plucks her off the ground and spins around before giving her a… fairly long kiss and definitely not one that's one-sided. "I love you too, Claudia Victoria," he breathes when they finally part, and for the first time Claudia actually has a smile to match his.

Sensing that our conversation is at an end, I give them a smile of my own before quietly slipping away to stand next to Marcus. He seems to be settling into a role of overseeing his fellow Twofers quite well. "It's always good to see something positive come out of this," I note.

"You had me there for a moment when you said that we were horrible people," the former Peacekeeper mutters. "Anyways, I hope Claudia didn't give you too much grief."

I give a small shrug at that. "It wasn't that bad, and I can empathize with her."

"She was one of those most reluctant to participate and still has quite a bit of hatred for the rebels. She's also a bitch."

"Then why did she come?"

"Well partially because Augustus, whom I guess is now her boyfriend, voluntarily signed up. And partially because being in the eighteen-and-under category meant that she didn't exactly have a choice in the matter."

I admit that info takes me aback a bit. "You didn't make it purely voluntary?" Seriously, I would rather have people who are willing to help out rather than those press-ganged into assisting.

"It's to keep us from being a district of victims, and believe me when I say that there're plenty of reasons for my people to take that route," he states. "No matter how anyone rationalizes it, there's no excuse for how the Aedes Bellonae was buried and for the rebels to gloat about it afterwards. And there's no excuse for Camp Victory or how… how…" Marcus is unable to finish his statement and can only bow his head with clenched teeth.

I don't say anything to that — he's probably got enough vocalized condolences as it is for what happened to his family — but simply rest my hand on his shoulder. He tenses up for a moment, but ultimately the relaxing of his muscles hints that he accepts the gesture.

"However," the former Peacekeeper continues, "there's no excuse for this Games or how our Soldiers in White were used. There's no excuse for what happened to you and… so many others the Capitol detained. And there's certainly no fucking excuse for this. More people may have died several times over in the Aedes Bellonae alone, but it doesn't make this any less of an atrocity."

"But a lot of the people here probably didn't even set foot outside of District Two," I counter, "much less participate in all that you mention."

"That doesn't absolve us of our complicity to the Capitol's tyranny. Unlike the rest of you, we were happy to be the Capitol's slave, and our willing and blind compliance made sure that its crimes were able to be carried out. That's why it's so important that this happens. Without firsthand knowledge of this atrocity, there would likely be many who would continue to deny that there was a reason for the other districts to come knocking on our door; instead, they would do nothing but continue to play the victim. However, that changes if you present them with the awful truth firsthand. It's why, after laying out the proof from several bomb fragments gathered here and document found back home, we decided on this. To help someone as a slight recompense was one reason, and like I said before, the other reason is so that reality would finally set in."

"It's apparently also why Marcus here told me to keep the Peacekeeper facility untouched," Thom adds, "at least until everything else has been completed."

"Yeah," the former Peacekeeper notes with a nod. "It's to show them just how much of a shit our 'Guiding Light' that's the Capitol really gave about us."

"Though," I point out, "if that's your intent, I probably should mention that it's probably impossible to get every citizen of Two here, even with your troop transports." Seriously, it would take almost a whole year to reach their population numbers.

"We don't need all or even the vast majority of people; just enough to spread the word. That's why the obligatory members for this trip consists of the regional leaders from every community in Two. And it's why we decided to include kids, albeit ones of reaping age; to plant the seed in the next generation." Marcus proceeds to add, "Similar that, it's why Gale pressured Paylor to force all regional and rebel military leaders to tour the Aedes Bellonae and what's left of Camp Victory. Like us, they may have not been directly responsible for wartime atrocities, but it doesn't change their complicity."

"Huh, none of us really got the memo," states Thom. I don't miss that he already seems a bit exhausted from directing people. On the upside, all that military discipline hammered into the Twofers means that there's very little he needs to say for them to proceed with whatever they've been assigned to do.

"I think it's because we don't really have any regional leader," I mutter in turn. It's more than a bit generous to call Twelve a district before the bombing; I'm not even sure what it is now since the current population isn't even in the triple digits.

"Oh… right. Well… I'll be willing to serve as a representative ASAP if you want. I mean, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about going there — the footage Cressida aired was bad enough — but it's just as fair that I participate."

The former miner's offer seems to take the former Peacekeeper completely by surprise. "O-oh okay. I'll let Gale know and give you word when I come back."

"Speaking of which, what does Gale think of all of this?" I ask. It's not hard to imagine that the old Gale would have truly enjoyed rubbing everybody's face in this… and then some.

"He's glad that someone's helping you guys out. But other than that, he's been noncommittal and purposefully out of the loop for now. We also have barred him from the meetings, and extensively recorded them to show a lack of his presence." When I ask why, Marcus adds, "It's so that any accusation of us being Gale's puppet will be completely groundless. Not that it would stop the more zealous in my district, but it should be in the tiny minority."

Huh, smart move. I'm also pretty damn impressed that they were able to get everything organized in such a short amount of time. "Well, I've said it before, but I really mean it that I'm thankful at what all of you are doing."

"Same here," adds Thom. "At the rate we were going, we probably wouldn't have been finished even by the year's end. Which would have kept people from returning, which would have left us with no workers, and so on… Seriously, you have no idea how much help this is. Some of the guys may not appreciate it right now, but I think they'll come around."

"Adding that, I really do hope that this would cause the other districts to quit shitting all over your district like I've been hearing." Though the fact that there's no propo crew to film this would probably make that unlikely.

My comment earns a noncommittal grunt and shrug from the former Peacekeeper. "As nice as that would be, I'm not holding my breath." There's not even the slightest trace of bitterness in his statement; just a matter-of-fact tone with a tinge of resignation.

I'm about to retort when the familiar sound of light footfalls — normally they should be silent but rubble-caked earth sort of makes that difficult — reaches my ears, and I turn to see Katniss trudging down the hill; probably to go hunting judging by the way her bow and arrow is affixed on her back. While there's still some distance for her to go to recover, I don't miss how much life seems to have returned to her since the day I returned, and by this point she looks like she's capable of moving around on her own two feet without it visibly exhausting her. She must be in her own little world at the moment because she doesn't even seem to notice anybody until she's pretty much in the midst of us. When she does finally look up however…

On any other situation, the sight would probably be hilarious, and you could probably be forgiven for thinking this is some elaborate Capitol sculpture garden. Because everybody is frozen in place as Katniss and the Twofers stare at each other like some wild animal caught in the crosshairs… except both are the prey. Considering how they were familiar with each other this past year, said context ends up taking the humor out of the situation … at least somewhat. I definitely don't miss how Katniss is piecing together the origin and background of our current guests… or how many of the Twofers' eyes continuously flit over to the bow and sheath full of arrows.

In the end, Katniss is the one to break the tableau first by continuing on her way towards to the forest. In other words, she bolts off and continues to run in a full sprint until she's out of sight. The Twofer's themselves seem to be trying to figure out as to whether what they just saw was real or not as they gradually begin to continue on with their work.

During this time, Thom decides to be the one to break our uncomfortable silence. "That… probably could have gone better."

That just makes me snort: "You think?"

In Marcus' case, it doesn't seem like he does know what to think. "So… that's her…" he mumbles soberly. "I guess that's what you meant when you said that she 'could be better'."

"Yeah; though she's improved quite a bit than when we last talked. Still…" I can't deny how worried I am about her, and it probably shows in the form of a grimace on my face.

"So why the fuck are you still standing here?" the former Peacekeeper growls, and to my surprise, he's actually glaring at me.

As I piece together what he means by that, my attempt at a response just comes out in a pathetic sputter: "I… I can't just go after her! What kind of help can I give in this situation? If anything, I'll probably just end up scaring her off even more! She-she doesn't want anything to do with me!"

"Uh huh…" _Great, now you have to pile things on, Thom?_

Oh and how wonderful; now even the happy couple is looking at me. However, before the copperhead can make a probably snide comment, I snap, "NO! No opinions from you!" Though that doesn't cease the fact that I have to deal with everybody around me giving me the kind of judgmental stare that bores into my skull even though I'm not even looking at them. _Do you all think I don't want to help? I do! It's just that it's too soon; I need to keep things gradual so as not to cause any shock. I need to give her space. It… I…_ "… Son of a bitch…"

And so with that muttered oath, I set off in a run of my own; well, at the very least, I try my best at it. It's bad enough that the replacement leg I got while I was recuperating in the Capitol these past couple months is pitiful at running with, and running through rubble is not exactly the easiest thing to do in general; the mixture of these two factors raises the level of suck to new heights.

Yet I still manage to keep up the pace — okay, maybe I stumbled and fell into a crumpled heap one… or two… or five times — all the way to the busted fence.

_Where did she go? Where would she go?_

Since I haven't actually been in the woods with Katniss, the only thing to do is a time-honored technique of mine: wandering around aimlessly — I do sort of utilize some strategy by following what looks like a path — in the hope of running into her.

Which to my surprise, I actually do. I don't know how long I've been wandering — it could've been minutes; it could've been hours — but I finally come across Katniss perched on a rock overlooking the forested hills. I admit that for a moment, the scenery had captivated me — this early in the season, everything is either a light green or a patchwork of flower-laden colors — until I was almost right on top of her.

Of course, I also probably should have called out Katniss' name ahead of time. Because the moment she notices me — honestly, I'm a bit surprised that I actually saw her before she saw me — she strings her bow and whips around aims it right at my heart.

Okay, so this wasn't the first time this had happened, but my balls are probably not going to be coming down any time soon; though on the flipside, I'm pleasantly surprised it didn't cause me to go nuts. "Whoa, it's just me." Honestly, I'm also surprised that my voice is able to come out as calm as I hold my hands up in a placating manner.

A few seconds seems to pass for my presence to register because that bow's still strung as Katniss stares at me with a panicked expression, but that panic soon shifts to mortification and shame as she lowers the bow before allowing it to clatter to the ground. While she pulls her knees up to her chest and turns to face away from me, I slowly walk towards to the rock and just as slowly lower myself down upon it as if any sudden movement would scare her away.

It's best not to mention how I almost got a free offering of heart surgery and instead focus on what's important. "You gave us a bit of a worry running off like that. Something spooked you?"

Of course I have a good idea as to what spooked her, but sometimes with Katniss, if you want to get a reaction you need to do something that she finds exasperating. Which I succeed in because she looks at me as if I'd just declared my love for the Capitol. "Haven't you seen our district?"

A bit of a noncommittal shrug. "So we've gotten a few new guests."

"From District Two! You know what we did to them! And now… now they're coming to finish the job! They've come for me, and I'll probably deserve it."

See, this is why it was a bad idea for me to come! Because things are obviously going downhill. I mean, I guess that the upshot of this means that Katniss has regained some sense of self-preservation if she's rambling in fear, but I don't want her to stay in some state of paranoia for the rest of her life.

In the following seconds, I don't know what comes over me. Because before the two of us realizes what's happening, I do something that's probably on the stupid side: I wrap my arms around Katniss and hold her close to me. Within my embrace, I can feel her tense up a bit and pull away, and I'm about ready to let go and apologize; however, to my surprise, she relaxes and melts back into my arms… though her ramblings seem to turn into small dry sobs.

"It's okay. It's okay," I breathe as I gently rub Katniss' back. As the she finally falls silent, I add, "No one's coming to get you. They're here to help."

That seems to catch her short, and she pulls back to look at me in a puzzled manner. "Help?"

"Yeah, they're part of a rotating crew that will be working daily to get Twelve cleaned up in due time. It's kind of a way of them saying sorry for our district being obliterated. You actually met the guy who arranged the thing."

More puzzlement. "I did?"

"He's the one who stuck a gun in your face before you got shot." Okay, maybe I should have phrased that explanation with more tact.

Recognition finally seems to click behind her eyes. "At the Nut…" And that's when a hopeful tone enters her voice: "He's still alive?"

I nod my head. "He asked about your wellbeing. In fact, while they did hate you during the war — actually they sort of still hate the rebels now — many people from Two actually admire you for calling to give them a chance. And that's why they are here. So you don't have anything to worry about from them."

My hope was that the statement would reassure Katniss and calm her down. For some reason, though, it actually does the complete opposite. "This just proves I don't belong," she mutters.

"Katniss—"

"I thought they were coming to kill me! I thought _you_ were someone else who was coming to kill me, and I almost killed you because of that!"

"'Almost'," I note. "Key word there, and not exactly the first time you aimed an arrow at me. Real or not real?"

"Real." Good to know that routine still works. "But that's not the point. They were right in sending me here, and still it's not enough. I'm probably going to treat everybody as a threat because that just the kind of person I am: distrustful and deadly. I'm a threat. It… it's why I should probably go."

_What._ "What?" Is she saying what I think she's saying?

"I should go." Katniss' voice sounds so tired when she repeats that, but those three syllables still cut into me. "Leave and head off into the wilderness. I'll be breaking my parole, but it's not like they'll waste their time looking for me."

_Is she… is she really considering this?_ "But… but you can't go."

"Who says I can't?" she retorts, and to my horror, there's actually some conviction that's creeping into her previously-wavering voice. "I know how to survive out he—"

"I'm telling you, please don't go!" I don't even realize that I'm screaming, or that my hands are clamped down on Katniss' shoulders while kneeling on the ground, until I finish that statement. Though now, even I'm aware of how pitiful I look and sound. "Please…" Except I don't care.

"Peeta…" I look up to see that she seems to be looking at me with a mixture of shock and concern, but it's not until she brushes a slender hand against my cheek that I realize I'm actually crying.

"You once told me that you needed me…" I mumble as I hear drops of my tears hitting the leaves beneath me, "during the Quell. Real or not real?"

For some reason, she flushes dark. "Real. You were trying to convince me that no one needed you and that you should die in the arena."

"Well, I'm telling you right now: _I_ need you."_ I really do._ "I-I know it's selfish of me to say that, especially after all that's happened, but it's true. When you were wasting away in that fucking prison they put you in, I felt like I was losing my mind. And now I know that, I… I don't think that I can manage if you… if you…"

"Peeta…" Whatever she says next, I can't discern it.

"So I'm begging you… please don't leave me!"

Silence settles on the wake of my plea, and we remain stuck where we are: Katniss standing and me groveling at her feet. _Great work, Mellark. Because sounding pathetic and making demands like this would really convince her to stick around._

It's only when my tears finally abate that I hear her quiet voice: "It's just… I don't feel like I can fit in Twelve anymore."

"It's because you've been pretty much shut in for the past… who knows how long." Okay, that was a bit harsh. "At this point, many people probably don't feel like they fit in anywhere. Doesn't mean that they can't give things a shot."

"Maybe…" Admittedly to my own selfish glee, I can hear her conviction wavering.

"Definitely," I state and finally look up to see that there's still lines of concern and worry etched on Katniss' face. That's when I get an idea: "Tell you what, why don't you give this a couple weeks. If you really feel that you can't fit in by the time those weeks have passed, I won't even try to stop you if decide to go. How does that sound?" _Please say yes._

Several agonizing minutes pass in silence as she appears to mull that over in her head. Finally though she mutters, "Fine. But I can't make any promises, and I think you don't give yourself any credit in being able to survive on your own."

_She really does have no idea the effect she has…_ Still, my response is to give her a big hug and ramble out a varied string of thanks; this time, I manage to do so without breaking down and blubbering like a complete ninny.

When we finally part, Katniss adds, "If it's okay, can you just… give me a moment? I'm not ready to go back just yet."

"But you will be back by evening," I add, trying and failing to hide the desperation in my voice, "right?"

"Don't worry," she says with a huff and scowl, "I promise I'll be back by then. Okay?"

"Okay!" With one final hug — I've probably surpassed the hug limits with her — I move back towards the town. It's clear that Katniss needs her space for the moment, and I should be helping out our guests; I actually got an idea that would make me useful for once.

I just need to… just need to… _uh… dammit._

"Um… heh… Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

"Which way is home?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I would like to thank "1-1 Marines" for allowing me to adapt his characters of Nero Augustus and Claudia Victoria from his fic _Redemption of a Butcher_. We actually have vastly different HG headcanons, and there are a few elements of those two kids that have been tweaked (hopefully without changing their core being) to work within the framework of my own idea of canon. However, his fic gives a good interpretation of the Peacekeeper and loyalist POV during the Rebellion. I sincerely suggest checking it out.  
><strong>


	6. Small Victories

In contrast to the aimless meandering involved with me when I was trying to find her, it probably takes Katniss just a few minutes and direct path to get us back to the tree-line.

"Thanks for guiding me back." At least I know now that one thing has remained a constant despite all I've gone through: my abysmal outdoors skills. "So I'll see you later?"

Instead of answering my departing query, Katniss responds with silence and, when I turn around to look back at her, is fidgeting while chewing her lip.

"Uh… Katniss? Something wrong?"

"I think…" _Oh please don't say that you want to leave already… _"I think I want to walk back up with you."

Okay, wasn't expecting that. "You… you do? Because I'm going up to the square to be around the workers."

Katniss nods her head and states, "I can't make any promises that I won't run back to my house. But since you say that there's going to be more people coming from Two, I might as well try to face them now." I must be grinning or something, because she immediately scowls at me to add, "Like I said, I can't make any promises, and if you're going to be like that, then I might as well go back home."

"Okay okay…" I concede while raising my hands up in supplication. "Can I still be happy for your decision to mingle with them?"

The scowl deepens. "I'm not going to mingle."

"Whatever you say…"

As with the trek out of the forest, our trip back up to the square mostly proceeds in silence. Honestly, just having Katniss walking at my side is something that simply fills me with a certain measure of contentment, especially since she's looking healthier by the day.

Of course, me being me, I decide to break that silence: "So far what I've seen they're really nice people. I'm sure you'll get alo—"

I don't get to finish my sentence as the sound of commotion reaches our ears and a crowd can be seen forming in the near distance. When the workers see us approaching — I can practically feel Katniss tensing up beside me at their stares — they part to reveal what all the fuss is about.

At the sight, the only thing I can do is sigh and remark, "Except for her. Stay away from Claudia Victoria if at all possible."

As of this moment, the little redheaded girl is being carried upon Nero's shoulders, and it sounds like she's screaming various profanities. I have a suspicion as to what had just transpired; because one of the local workers — the same guy who yelled at our new volunteers when they arrived — is currently busy curling up on the ground and nursing himself. In the meantime, Marcus looks extremely flustered and unsure where to direct his frustrations, while Thom… Okay, you'd expect Thom to be upset at someone from our district being physically assaulted, but if anything, the only emotion he seems to be expressing is slight embarrassment.

Though it isn't until we get closer that we're able to discern what's being said: "… if you're going to continue to call me a bitch, I should be able to call you out for the stick you've had up your ass ever since we were little kids!"

I'm not sure what the full conversation was about, but Claudia's screeched proclamation makes the scowl on Marcus' face deepen to the point that that it's hard to tell he's not from the Seam, and he proceeds to mutter, "I don't have a stick up my ass."

"Mind telling me what's going on?" To my pleasant surprise, and despite the light tone I use, my query causes those who weren't already aware of my presence to fall silent and turn their attention to me. Part of me is glad that I can still captivate an audience; the other part suddenly realizes I just put myself in the spotlight and, judging by the expectant look everybody is giving me, took upon the role of mediator.

"Ask her," the former Peacekeeper growls while jabbing a thumb towards Claudia's direction; however, it doesn't look like she's the only one he's angry with.

Before I can do so, however, the girl snaps, "You were the one who pressured me into coming! I didn't even want to be here, much less be insulted by some asshole rube."

"Okay, so what happened?" I ask, even though I suspect that I won't like the answer.

"He said that we deserved what happened at the Aedes Bellonae!" _Oh great…_ "That we had what was coming to us, and that we got off lightly by being imprisoned in Camp fucking Victim! Well… he got off lightly by what I did to him."

"Is this true?" This time I don't miss that my query is coming out a bit more tense than expected as I direct it towards man who's in the midst of standing back up

In response, he just glares at me and spits, "Typical. Why am I not surprised to see you take the side of Careers and Peacekeepers over his own people?" _What did he just say?_ Though before I can retort, a sneer grows on his lips. "Then again, to call townies part of Twelve is being generous. With even less numbers on your side, I guess that allying with the Twofers is the only thing you can do to feel big again. If not for one of our own being your district partner, you probably would have—"

I don't let this asshole finish. Honestly, with the implication he's making about the status of the merchants, it's not like I can comprehend the rest of that diatribe as it melts into a drone as hazy as my vision right now. But whatever he's about to say next, those words come out strangled as I tackle him and my hands wrap around his throat.

Everybody else makes a collective squawk of distress, and to my great satisfaction, the expression on the asshole's face morphs from contempt into fear as he tries to paws ineffectually at my arms. Despite his struggling, and despite the other hands — it vaguely occurs to me that it's that of the visitors instead of the locals — tugging at my arms, I don't budge; though I allow my squeeze toy just enough room to breathe.

"Do these hands belong to Katniss or a Career? Does it feel like I need others to fight for me? Have you forgotten what I did to Brutus?" I don't yell, but rather allow my voice to come out in a low growl, and it looks like my message is getting through. It also looks like the asshole's trying to rasp out a reply, but I cut him off: "Rhetorical question. But keep talking, and maybe we'll put to the test as to which one of us needs the help of others to feel big."

A couple more seconds are allowed to pass before I finally let go. In turn, the hands that have been on my arms — ironically my current anger is probably the only thing that's keeping me from freaking out; I'm not exactly one to react well to being grabbed due to… reasons — immediately haul me back up to my feet as their owners make an attempt at keeping me restrained, even though I've already had my say. That wasn't my hijacked state talking; it's all me… and I regret nothing about it.

As the asshole scrambles back, he looks expectantly at all the other Twelvers gathered. To my honest surprise however, they don't look too sympathetic at his plight; a bit bemused at my reaction perhaps, but not sympathetic. And the only thing Thom says is this: "Go home, Zach."

At this point, Zach's surprise seems to be joined by anger. "Are you seriously taking their si—"

"Go. Home." I've never heard Thom express anger before. But even though he doesn't raise his voice the slightest, he has no trouble conveying it. It's now that I can appreciate how he's able to hold the unofficial leadership position here. "You're done for the day… Or perhaps the rest of this time."

As Zach the asshole stomps away back up to the Victors' Village, Thom turns to the rest of us: "To the Twofers here, I'm sorry about what Zach said. I really hope this doesn't affect things. Though next time, I prefer that you come to me with any grievances instead of resorting to violence. And to those of _our_ district…" — A pause is given as he looks pointedly between his Seam compatriots and me. — "I know many of you are angry about what happened here; you have every right to be. However, our guests aren't the monsters who bombed our district; they're here to help out. Also, remember that there is no more Seam or town left to divide. Snow is gone; so don't let his specter stick around to keep us divided. If you insist on dredging up old hatreds and divisions, I'll point you to the train station."

In due time, the crowd finally begins to disperse as the tension of the previous situation dissipates, and before long everything is up and running.

"Are you alright?"

Katniss' query causes me to start a bit before I turn back to her. "Huh?" That's when I notice how cautious she's looking at me, and I now feel a bit guilty for losing my cool in front of her like that; I still don't feel guilty for the action itself. "Oh… that. Yeah… not my proudest moment — I'll definitely have to talk to Dr. Aurelius about it — but I wasn't going mutt if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, okay…"

"Which reminds me: just to be on the safe side, I should probably let you know what precautions I have in place just in the event of an episode. I haven't had a violent one since the war, but you can never be too sure."

I can tell that I'm starting to make Katniss uncomfortable with the topic of my hijacking, but I think that it's important she's well-informed about it if we're going to be interacting with each other.

Perhaps ironically, she's saved from further discomfort by the tentative approach of one of our guests. More specifically, it's Marcus, who looks unsure as to whether he should leave Katniss alone or say something; she saves him the burden of decision-making by actually giving him a hug, to which he can only reciprocate by giving one back in an awkward and hesitant manner. When they finally break apart, they begin to talk to each other about something, but I'm too far away to hear what they are talking about; instead, I'm more focused on an idea that's brewing within.

So when I situate myself right in the middle of the work crew, I holler out something for everyone to hear: "Alrighty then, if you don't mind, I'd like to appropriate some of you for a little project. So to start off, how many of you can bake?" To my pleasant surprise, several of the Twofers tentatively raise their hands. "Excellent. Keep those hands up. Now how many are good at following instructions dealing with measurements, and how many can transport heavy items well."

By now, I've got at least twenty hands raised, to which I tell them to follow me up to the Victors' Village. When I get there, and once I get Sae and a couple other houses on board with what I have planned, I immediately put my work crew to… well… work carrying out the task at hand: baking cookies.

Now it's stretching the resources I have — right now there's a couple hundred pounds of flour, sugar, and other ingredients stored away in my kitchen courtesy of Paylor — for the number of people available, but I think I'll be able to pull it off. Without wasting time, I disperse various recipes to the ones with baking experience, have the stronger individuals ferry ingredients around, and task the rest with prepping the kitchens. And within fifteen minutes, there is a full-scale operation underway.

Once things get started, it's amazing how fluid the process is, with everyone requiring little guidance as to what they are supposed to do and every role meshing seamlessly with each other. Though I'm not sure whether to be happy or bemused that Claudia's helping out, especially since she seems to be more interested in watching her boyfriend haul sacks of flour around; that being said, she's actually doing a good job with rationing the inventory at hand. Besides his work at carrying supplies, Nero himself does a good work at keeping morale up and a tempo going by either singing various military hymns or cadences that the others — even some of us Twelvers — join in on. And within a couple hours, we end up enough cookies of various forms to go around.

When we arrive back down, I'm pleasantly surprised to see that Katniss has reneged on her original plan to not mingle with the Twofers, and it's clear how much of an effect — which she's still probably utterly blind to — that she has as she goes among them. Between the despair and devastation sown between the Capitol and the Rebellion, I'm happy for any form of inspiration being salvaged from there. The same goes for the way these workers' eyes light up when they bite into a cookie and I tell them there's enough to bring back for their families.

For me, it's the type of victory that counts.

~oOo~

As promised, more trains come in the following days, with the usual reactions from the visitors when they arrive. The only people who aren't shocked are those coming for repeat visits, and there are actually quite a few who decide to do so, with some eventually holing up in the empty houses so as not to deal with traveling back and forth. Katniss and Nero even begin to exchange tunes from their respective districts to sing and buoy sprits during these ordeals. Along with the work crews, come extra supplies of baking ingredients so I can continue my little project.

And like Thom had hoped for, this contribution from District Two ends up doing in a few months what would probably be difficult to achieve in a few days with the number of people we initially have. By the end of the April, almost all of the remains are buried and hazardous waste cleared away. By the anniversary of the bombing, during which Paylor visits to host a solemn memorial service, there are no more ruins — barring a prominent structure here and there — left standing, all large pieces of rubble have been cleared away, and rains have washed away and mixed the ash into the soil.

In the meantime, between her treatments, keeping active, and being among our guests, Katniss gradually comes back to life. I won't say that it's a smooth process, as there've been some days where she refuses to emerge from her home, but I'm more than sure that her plan to leave has effectively been dashed.

One idea that has especially been effective is a "memory book". She got the idea from the plant book we worked on — that reminds me that there are a few entries I want to work on — and after talking to Dr. Aurelius about it, he was enthusiastic enough to send supplies. The premise was simple in itself: you'd start with an image of a person — namely someone long past — and from there would write something about them to keep their memory alive. Naturally, we started with Prim and Katniss' father, but it then expanded to my family, then other important people long gone, be they from District Twelve, the arenas, the Capitol, or the Rebellion.

I won't lie: it's not easy, and there've been many times when the pages we work on become unusable due to drops of saline. But we soon find that the measure of closure gained after each page's completion outweighs the heartbreak during its formation. I've also found that sketching all these people has helped me with my memory; there are still gaps here and there, but I can feel them being filled in.

Other people begin to help out as well to give their accounts: Katniss mother, Cressida and Pollux, Thom, Sae, Beetee, Johanna, Annie — her son, who was born on the anniversary of the arena breakout and Twelve's bombing, already looks like the best of his mother and father — and even Dr. Aurelius. As difficult as he is still — I have yet to completely forgive him — even Haymitch begins to fill us in on our parents, his tributes, and fellow victors. The only person who we don't contact, though I myself do talk to him, or even mention the subject of is a certain former hunter-turned-commander in District Two.

Marcus, being one of those Twofers staying for the short term, also eventually comes by for dinner — it actually didn't take too long for me and Katniss to begin eating together — most of which involve him and Katniss exchanging stories about Darius. One day, I give the former Peacekeeper a sketch of his redheaded friend joking around with Sae at the Hob; in turn, he gives us a photograph — one of them together and with their families at their Peacekeeper graduation — to place in the book along with the stories that were told.

Recovery, be it within us or with the district, is a slow process, but it makes steady headway.

Around late July, and as the cleanup process begins to taper off, Marcus heads back to his district for about a week. We assume it's just to visit his family, but when he returns, there's an official-looking document in his hand that he gives to us and Thom.

While there's a flowery statement at the top of it, what draws my eyes is the list of various locations, with various resources listed by them. That's when it occurs to us that those locations are all mines and quarries that contain what District Two has to offer: limestone, clay, sandstone, granite, marble…

And it's after I actually read the statement that it finally sinks in what this document states: these resources are available for the rebuilding of District Twelve…

Free of charge.


	7. Debt

"You're kidding me…" _I mean…_ "This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Real or not real?"

Whatever answer Marcus was expecting from us, it's probably not this considering how slightly flustered he looks. "Not real." By now, he's familiar with that little quirk of mine and knows how to respond appropriately. "Why would it be a joke?"

"Do you seriously expect us to believe that a bunch of quarries are just going to give us their entire product free of charge?" My last three syllables are punctuated by my finger prodding that document.

"Well of course not," he scoffs. _That's what I thou—_"They are merely giving you access to whatever is needed to rebuild the place to however you wish it to be. We have full confidence that you're not going to build the entire Capitol here."

"That's a pretty big show of confidence." It seems Thom's reading my mind about the whole thing. "You're pretty much saying that we can rebuild our town square as grand as yours, if on a smaller scale."

"Actually, we expect you do so; it means that you'd be using our resources to the fullest potential," the former Peacekeeper notes. "Anyways… after you finish drafting a plan for a building or some other improvement, it can just send the plan to the main office, and they'll contact the appropriate quarry to send the material over."

"No. We can't accept this." Now Katniss' response is one that I'm not exactly surprised about.

Of course, it just makes a scowl appear on Marcus' face. "Why not?"

"It's too much," she says while sliding the document back to him. "There has to be some sort of price. And before you say it's because you bombed Twelve, that debt had already been paid in blood at the Nut and sweat from your people coming here to clean up the district."

"And your people came to help remove the bodies from the Aedes Bellonae," he counters as the papers go sliding back to us.

I guess that's true. After Thom visited Two, he came back visibly shaken from the ordeal. And right after that, he made an extremely firm suggestion for the people of Twelve to lend a hand. With most of the physical work done by the people of Two, it's not like there would have been a dent in the effort here. So things were done in rotations, with one half going and the other half staying to manage things on the home front until a couple days later when things are flipped around.

The only people who didn't participate were those unable to go — the ones that'd be unwilling had already left due to Thom's "collusion with the enemy" — and even they usually contributed in their own way; turns out that Sae's granddaughter is really good at making simple dolls from discarded fabric, and a box of them would go along with a box of my cookies with the Two-bound shift. In general, for the first few times those shifts came back, it was clear how utterly drained everyone was from the experience, even though many of them have been exposed to war as well as the remains of this district. At her insistence that she'd be fine for those couple of days of my absence, even I actually went for one shift along with Haymitch; it… probably wasn't the smartest idea on my part.

Still even with that point, Katniss is still undeterred, and those sheets go back to Marcus. "And how many people was that? Twenty? Thirty? "

"It was still pretty much your entire district," he murmurs; his voice accompanied by the sound of paper sliding against wood.

"Except for me. I didn't even help out at the Nut." Slide… "And have you forgotten that I brought the war to District Two?"

"It's not like people don't know about the restrictions placed on you," the former Peacekeeper notes. "And yes, you may have been the symbol of the war that ravaged our district. But what matters is that, at the square, you showed us for who you really are: someone who was willing to extend as much compassion as she was willing to fight with honor. Even just your mere presence while people worked here did wonders for morale. So don't think that you've done nothing for us."

Despite his reasoning, Marcus' words are still countered with Kantiss'… and vice versa. All the while that little stack of papers keeps going back and forth… back and forth…

Finally, with the document right in the middle of them, the former Peacekeeper throws his hands up and barks, "It was their choice to do it! It's their gift! Are you going to refuse someone's gift?"

And finally, Katniss seems to deflate with that simple question, which is understandable. I mean, how do you refuse someone's gift without coming across as utterly ungrateful and close-minded? "I just don't want to pile up a debt," she murmurs. Ah… and that's what it comes down to.

"Neither do I," Thom adds. "I'm grateful for the help you brought over, because it's clear we could have never gotten things done with the help we had before you showed up. But this… you have to understand that it comes off as charity, which makes us feel like we're shackled with a debt that we don't know how to repay, if it's even possible. I'm not sure how to explain."

I'm not sure Thom needs to. Because those words seem to sap the energy out of Marcus as well, and something in his eyes tells me that he completely understands what they mean; I guess complexion of the people isn't the only thing Two and Twelve can have in common.

"Would you at least be getting compensated for this in any way?" I ask, hoping to figure out some common accord that can be reached. In all honestly, despite the surprise and almost excessive nature of the offer, I'm pretty open to these supplies reaching us considering that we really don't have any rebuilding material in stock. While there're no space issues now, if we actually want this district to be active and no longer be a burden to the others, we're going to have to actually expand past the Victors' Village.

"President Paylor found out about our plan and offered to cover the cost of what the quarries would normally sell, but that sort of goes against the whole point of donation. Yet despite our objections, she insisted. So we allowed it with one condition: that the money would be directed towards our… memorial fund…" As Marcus is explaining, I can see some sort of realization begin dawn in the former Peacekeeper's eyes, and right on the heels of that realization a rare grin graces his face. "Which is exactly why you should accept."

"Because each time we ask for something, your fund gets money from the government," I finish. I'll admit… that's possibly one way to get around the issue of debt. "What do you think, guys? By letting them help us, we're helping them. Win-win."

Of course, while Thom looks thoughtful about that, some people are harder to convince than others; that much is obvious considering how Katniss is chewing her lip as her eyes flit back and forth between me, an increasingly anxious-looking Marcus, and that document that has been such a source of contention lately. I don't know how much time passes while she's in that state, but we don't rush her

After that indeterminate period, though, she finally emits a sigh… before getting up and running out of the living room.

In her wake, a palatable silence falls in the space; a silence which is finally broken by Marcus: "I can't say I was expecting that response," he mutters with a completely crestfallen expression. Honestly, I'm more than a bit disappointed as well. I mean, I know Kantiss is a stickler about debt, but seriously…

However, before I can make any sort of response, she comes running back; except this time, she has a pen in one hand and a sheet of parchment — it occurs to me that it's the same parchment used for our book — in the other. Almost immediately upon taking a seat, Katniss begins writing in that sharp but clean script of hers. "Honestly, your idea sounds good, and I like that'd we'd be helping you that way. But it still feels like we aren't giving back enough." Within a few seconds, she finishes whatever she's writing, adds a signature, and slides that paper to me the same time that she finally drags the documents from Two over to her. "Which is why I'm offering this," she states while pointing to the simple statement:

"_As a show of gratitude for all the help given, District Twelve pledges to offer support in any way it can should District Two call for assistance." — Katniss Everdeen_

I don't even have to think about it to add my signature underneath Katniss' before handing it Thom; it takes him even less time to add his own signature before passing that sheet to Marcus.

Barely a couple seconds of scanning the sentence passes for the former Peacekeeper's eyes to go wide. "This… also wasn't what I was expecting."

"It may not be much," Katniss says with a small shrug, "but it's as much as we can give."

"But… are you sure others will go along with it? You saw how hesitant some from Two were in the beginning."

"As of now," Thom counters, "everybody here is grateful for Two's help. And if anybody who moves here later complains about these terms, we'll simply ask them what they did to help get this district cleaned up. Fair enough?"

"I…" After a couple seconds of trying to choke out an answer, Marcus simply settles for a jerky nod and quietly murmurs, "Fair enough. Thank you."

As he offers that thanks, the former Peacekeeper rises with his hand extended. So I decide to be the one to take it… before jerking him around the table to envelop him in a hug and, "Thank _you_."

After Katniss and Thom follow suit, we settle back down for idle chitchat over snacks. Haymitch actually drops by and we fill him in on the details, to which he pretty much reacts like I had; with complete surprise that's followed by quick acceptance and a signature on the paper. The sun is just starting to hit the treetops before Marcus and Thom take their leave; the latter is planning on going door to door with both District Two's proposal and Katniss' statement to get everyone to sign the latter.

As we see them out the door, my former mentor decides to have the final word: "Hey Limpy!"

By now, the former Peacekeeper is used to the nickname — granted, he's still not that much of a fan of the old victor — and he simply stops and turns in midstride to issue a polite, "Yes, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch raises his glass to the younger man and states in the soberest manner I've heard him in a while, "Olympia would be proud."

"As would Darius," Katniss adds.

The only response Marcus can give is to become frozen where he is for who-knows-how-long. Finally he breaks that moment by giving us another jerky nod — this time, it's laden with a disproportionate amount of blinks — before wishing us a good evening as they go on their way. Once he downs his glass, Haymitch mutters something about wanting to check on us and makes his departure as well; I really need to get him something to keep him busy with something other than booze.

Which just leaves us two.

Not knowing what to say to each other, we simply focus on picking up the dishes and cleaning them. However, as I place the last teacup on the drying rack, an important fact finally hits me: we can actually rebuild District Twelve.

"Hasn't that been what we were doing already?" Katniss voice makes me turn to see me scowling at me in a perplexed manner.

I hadn't realized I was thinking out loud but I might as well continue on: "Well yeah, but what have we been doing so far? Cleaning up the place so it doesn't become an environmental hazard; making sure the dead are buried; in general, doing things to just make the place livable. But with this offer… we'll not just be able to restore Twelve as our home, we could actually rebuild it into a home to be proud of."

My explanation must not be that convincing, because her scowl deepens. "How? There are less than fifty of us that live here. Without a job, it's not like more will come back, and without people, it's not like anybody will invest in this place."

Despite the cynical counter, I don't let it dampen my spirits. "People will return; I'm sure of it. Never underestimate the attachment we have to home, no matter what the state it's in. And as for jobs, I know that Paylor's figuring something out for us that won't involve coal dust all over the place."

Katniss' scowl actually begins to soften a bit, which must mean that I'm on the right track. "I'm not sure…"

I don't know why, but I actually take her hands in mine — to my surprise, she doesn't draw away — before looking straight into her eyes, "You don't have to be sure; just trust me on this. Can you do that?"

There must be a whole bunch of misgivings within Katniss, and it's with good reason. I mean, considering all that has happened so far, why shouldn't she, or any of us for that matter, be suspicious about what the future will bring? Yet, in spite of all that — in spite of every voice of reason and logic that tells her that this is probably an idiotic idea — she doesn't hesitate to say, "Yes."

It may be irrational, but for whatever reason, that simple monosyllabic response causes a surge of giddy happiness to swell inside of me. And in that state of being overcome by said surge, I end up conveying my gratitude to Katniss. Except that it's not in a verbal manner but an unthinking one that's probably the epitome of stupidity:

I kiss her on the lips.


End file.
